you’re probably
questioning why I’m writing you. Believe me, I am, too. You’re weird. You’re
really weird. I’m sorry, but I had to say it.
Let me butt in here, I
don’t know which caught me more off guard; the fact that she had written a note to me , or the fact that my step-hen joke didn’t go over as well as I
thought. Also, I’m not weird. Eccentric, maybe, but not weird.
But I get the feeling
that you’re a nice guy with a good heart. You’ve mentioned (and mentioned and
mentioned) that people call you a wretch, and at times I can’t say I disagree,
but deep down somewhere, yes, you have good intentions. And you seem to have a
thing for me—while it’s cute in a puppy dog sort of way, I’ve been creeped out
more than once. That’s also why I’m writing this to you , because I figure if anything ever happens to
me, you’ll be the first one through the door.
I need help. Well, I
should say I needed help, especially if you’re reading this. I thought about
asking you a number of times, but I wasn’t sure that I actually did need help and I didn’t want to give you any
reason to get involved until I was sure. You seem like you might have a
tendency to jump the gun, so I had to be certain first.
And I can’t go to the
cops. I’ll get to that in a minute.
I’m writing this, in
part, as sort of a catharsis. Somebody needs to know, and I’m fully aware that
it may never get into the proper hands. I’m also aware that you may not find
this, so it could very well be a message from beyond the grave for whomever is
reading it. If it’s the police, you’re too late…and look inside your own
ranks. If it’s you, Dad, stay strong, okay? I love you. If it’s you,
Harry…go die in a fire.
Now, Step-Hen, if you’ve
found this, you probably found some of your things in my closet. Let me
apologize first for that. And don’t worry, your cat received lots of love and
affection. (Sparkle? Really? I called him Tugboat. He liked it much
better.) I took your stuff while you were at work a few weeks ago. You
shouldn’t leave your back door unlocked. It’s dangerous.
Why? It’s going to sound
strange, and if you haven’t figured this out yet, I’m in hiding. If I’m dead,
it’s okay to say that I changed my name to Kerry Parker. By now, you’ll have
learned that I’m really January Oliver and you probably read the rest of my
diary. Obviously I can’t call you a creep for that since this is where I’m
leaving this message. Just know that I’m embarrassed by some of the things
that went through my head. I was young. Sue me.
Anywho, back to your
stuff. I was having trouble letting go of my former life and somehow, it
seemed like it would make a difference in my transition if I had male things in
my closet. You were so into me that I knew you wouldn’t mind. I’m sorry
about that.
Apology accepted.
I left behind a boyfriend
of six years. It wasn’t easy. Oh, also, do you remember those divorce papers
that you “accidentally” opened? Totally fake. I had my friend Cheryl draw
them up. Have you met her? I thought something like that might help with this
fake identity I was trying to create. You know, like, in case anyone ever
asked.
What else? The
pictures! I went through your phone out of curiosity (password protection is a
good idea) and your photos of the little ones reminded me of my niece and
nephew. Cute kids. Are they yours?
The magazines? Entertainment Weekly is my favorite. I took those
on a last-second whim, actually.
You know what’s funny?
Here I am calling you weird and a creep when I’m the one sneaking into YOUR
house, stealing things. My therapist said I had a breakthrough last week. Yay
me. Whatever. It’s just that I hadn’t had a chance to return your stuff yet.
Oh, I should mention the
picture of that angry woman. Is that your
questioning why I’m writing you. Believe me, I am, too. You’re weird. You’re
really weird. I’m sorry, but I had to say it.
Let me butt in here, I
don’t know which caught me more off guard; the fact that she had written a note to me , or the fact that my step-hen joke didn’t go over as well as I
thought. Also, I’m not weird. Eccentric, maybe, but not weird.
But I get the feeling
that you’re a nice guy with a good heart. You’ve mentioned (and mentioned and
mentioned) that people call you a wretch, and at times I can’t say I disagree,
but deep down somewhere, yes, you have good intentions. And you seem to have a
thing for me—while it’s cute in a puppy dog sort of way, I’ve been creeped out
more than once. That’s also why I’m writing this to you , because I figure if anything ever happens to
me, you’ll be the first one through the door.
I need help. Well, I
should say I needed help, especially if you’re reading this. I thought about
asking you a number of times, but I wasn’t sure that I actually did need help and I didn’t want to give you any
reason to get involved until I was sure. You seem like you might have a
tendency to jump the gun, so I had to be certain first.
And I can’t go to the
cops. I’ll get to that in a minute.
I’m writing this, in
part, as sort of a catharsis. Somebody needs to know, and I’m fully aware that
it may never get into the proper hands. I’m also aware that you may not find
this, so it could very well be a message from beyond the grave for whomever is
reading it. If it’s the police, you’re too late…and look inside your own
ranks. If it’s you, Dad, stay strong, okay? I love you. If it’s you,
Harry…go die in a fire.
Now, Step-Hen, if you’ve
found this, you probably found some of your things in my closet. Let me
apologize first for that. And don’t worry, your cat received lots of love and
affection. (Sparkle? Really? I called him Tugboat. He liked it much
better.) I took your stuff while you were at work a few weeks ago. You
shouldn’t leave your back door unlocked. It’s dangerous.
Why? It’s going to sound
strange, and if you haven’t figured this out yet, I’m in hiding. If I’m dead,
it’s okay to say that I changed my name to Kerry Parker. By now, you’ll have
learned that I’m really January Oliver and you probably read the rest of my
diary. Obviously I can’t call you a creep for that since this is where I’m
leaving this message. Just know that I’m embarrassed by some of the things
that went through my head. I was young. Sue me.
Anywho, back to your
stuff. I was having trouble letting go of my former life and somehow, it
seemed like it would make a difference in my transition if I had male things in
my closet. You were so into me that I knew you wouldn’t mind. I’m sorry
about that.
Apology accepted.
I left behind a boyfriend
of six years. It wasn’t easy. Oh, also, do you remember those divorce papers
that you “accidentally” opened? Totally fake. I had my friend Cheryl draw
them up. Have you met her? I thought something like that might help with this
fake identity I was trying to create. You know, like, in case anyone ever
asked.
What else? The
pictures! I went through your phone out of curiosity (password protection is a
good idea) and your photos of the little ones reminded me of my niece and
nephew. Cute kids. Are they yours?
The magazines? Entertainment Weekly is my favorite. I took those
on a last-second whim, actually.
You know what’s funny?
Here I am calling you weird and a creep when I’m the one sneaking into YOUR
house, stealing things. My therapist said I had a breakthrough last week. Yay
me. Whatever. It’s just that I hadn’t had a chance to return your stuff yet.
Oh, I should mention the
picture of that angry woman. Is that your
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